


Adagio

by hereticpop



Category: SMAP
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticpop/pseuds/hereticpop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the long story of a hopeless crush; or little red riding Tsuyoshi and the big bad sexual predator Kimura [according to Nakai]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adagio

I.

– the year in which Tsuyoshi and Takuya climb –

In the collection of Tsuyoshi’s problems, there’s a special shelf for those that won’t let him go (maybe because he doesn’t want them to let go), and there are two of them in particular: booze and Kimura. Not necessarily in this order. The problem with booze is that it keeps getting him in situations he very much doesn’t want to be in. The problem with Kimura is that he’s involved in those situations and it paralyzes Tsuyoshi with embarrassment later, like he’s never going to be able to face Kimura again, and part of it is because Kimura is scary and part of it is because Tsuyoshi has a raging crush on him. Which might be consequently a part of the Kimura problem too. It’s really confusing, especially after the fourth beer; at least that’s how many Tsuyoshi thinks he’s had so far, except that he can’t count the empty cans as they blur in front of his eyes and seem to be moving around the table too.

“Where’s Nakai?” Kimura asks, coming out of the bathroom and buckling his belt back and kind of shining, Tsuyoshi blinks, is he shining? He tries to follow with his gaze but when he turns his head it makes him rather dizzy so he stops.

“Went to... Shingo,” is what Tsuyoshi manages to say, or what his tongue manages not to blur out of the eloquent explanation about how Nakai went after Shingo (whom they’ve sent to the convenience store and it was taking suspiciously long) because it wouldn’t be unlike Shingo to fall asleep on the pavement now really. It sounded perfectly smooth in Tsuyoshi’s head but all Kimura got was that slur and thank god no one really expects more from him anyway, Tsuyoshi thinks.

Kimura, predictably, shrugs and picks up his own unfinished can and Tsuyoshi just watches him drink and feels good. Kimura’s not shining anymore as much as he’s merely glowing in a warm way and it’s not that hard on the eyes and Tsuyoshi is glad about that. He tells Kimura. Or at least he tries, but he isn’t sure if Kimura understands with how heavy and slow Tsuyoshi’s tongue feels in his mouth. Kimura asks, “What?” as he is laughing that unrestrained pretty laugh of his and something in Tsuyoshi’s stomach flips (the fish from earlier? all the snacks they’ve stuffed themselves with?) and he feels he should do something; the time to do something is now. He’s never had the courage to do anything and it’s been a couple of years, soon he won’t be able to call himself a man if he keeps this up.

“You sure you haven’t had enough?” Kimura asks, still rather amused, but that’s when Tsuyoshi raises himself up (with a little help from the table and the couch that he holds onto for balance and absolutely no help from the floor, which just now decided to become soft and wobbly under his feet) and stomps to where Kimura is sitting on the carpet, legs spread in front of him, perfect. Utterly perfect for Tsuyoshi to stumble on and land against Kimura’s chest and feel the wetness of – it takes him a second to realise – spilled beer soak his t-shirt and as Kimura curses loudly, Tsuyoshi sees Kimura spilled some on himself too.

“Sorry,” Tsuyoshi says and does the one thing that comes to mind and he’s too out of it – out of everything, out of himself – to think how impossible it is for him to do. He leans (he’s on his fours between Kimura’s legs, that’s bad enough as it is) and licks Kimura’s outstretched, beer-covered hand. It tastes, well, like beer. Then he doesn’t know how, but he ends up with Kimura’s fingers in his mouth and it’s almost too easy.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kimura’s voice, positively outraged, asks somewhere above him. But Tsuyoshi is focusing here, sucking thoroughly and tracing the skin with his tongue and it’s way past pretending it’s all about licking the beer off, he knows, even if Kimura doesn’t seem to notice yet. “Do you really want to drink it that much?”

Tsuyoshi doesn’t answer, but then he is yanked up by the front of his wet t-shirt, and not very gently either, and he’s almost hanging limp in Kimura’s grip for a moment, but Kimura doesn’t seem entirely angry, so Tsuyoshi just grabs his shoulders and kisses him.

His mind is blank and doesn’t register the fact that he’s (forcibly) kissing Kimura, it’s only the press of lips that he feels and that he’s trying to move against but it’s so painfully sloppy and uncoordinated he can’t even tell if he’s getting a reaction. His eyes are shut in a dark bliss, he thinks he can feel teeth but he doesn’t know if it’s because Kimura’s opened his mouth or because it was already open when he attacked, and his brain is kind of numb and he has no sense of time. Then his hands slip and he’s aware of his tongue tracing the side of Kimura’s jaw in one last desperate attempt, before he just slides to the floor awkwardly.

He can hear voices above, right then or is it hours later, he thinks Nakai and Shingo must’ve come back or maybe it’s a different day altogether, or a different night, or there’s something he’s just missed, and then, a small miracle really, Tsuyoshi conveniently blacks out.

xxx

He considers pretending to be sick. Or he wouldn’t even need to pretend, the tight knots in his stomach seem to be dancing at the thought of facing his band mates (mostly one of his band mates) and he thinks he might actually throw up from nerves if he has to talk to Kimura. This isn’t school, though, he tells himself. This is work, Tsuyoshi. You have to face it holding your head high.

He almost breaks into a run in the hallway and ducks into his dressing room before anyone can notice him.

Goro is already there and he greets Tsuyoshi with raised eyebrows. Tsuyoshi likes Goro, and Tsuyoshi likes sharing a dressing room with Goro, but there are days when he’d rather be left alone. This is one of them.

“Ah,” Goro seems to know already. “You’re avoiding him.”

Tsuyoshi drops his bag on the floor and sits down, completely resigned. Of course, Shingo shared. Shingo always shares.

When Tsuyoshi woke up that night, in the middle of Nakai’s living room, Kimura was nowhere in sight and Nakai was trying to move Tsuyoshi’s head onto a pillow. Tsuyoshi blinked at him, but couldn’t open his mouth to speak.

“Sleep,” Nakai murmured, his voice awfully raspy and worn out. “There’s no place on the couch so you sleep on the floor anyway.” He also covered Tsuyoshi with a blanket, so Tsuyoshi went back to sleep.

The next time he woke up it was morning, his head felt like it was going to split in two, Shingo was throwing empty beer cans at him ordering him to get up, and Kimura had apparently already left.

God was a merciful being.

Nakai was burning toasts for breakfast in the kitchen and when they joined him, Tsuyoshi learned (among other things he didn’t want to learn about last night) that what in his head seemed like a hot kiss was in reality him falling onto Kimura and slobbering his face up briefly before passing out on the floor and drooling into the carpet. Shingo and Nakai had got home just in time to witness it, and as Tsuyoshi’s face was burning hot and red, he was cursing his life and praying for a quick death.

God was cold and cruel after all.

The problem was, he didn’t die and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to carry on with his life now (which included being a member of a five member idol group) because there was no way he’d face Kimura ever again (which made the idol group thing kind of complicated).

And yet here he is, in his dressing room. Goro knows and is looking at him and Tsuyoshi feels he might start crying.

Then he thinks about Goro, who must’ve learned about the whole get together just because Shingo was recounting Tsuyoshi’s drunken adventures. Goro claims he doesn’t care when he’s not invited (and he usually isn’t; especially if Nakai does the inviting), but Tsuyoshi can’t help wondering if that’s the truth. He knows he would be hurt if he weren’t invited. He’s secretly happy that they like him enough to invite him, even if sometimes he wonders if maybe they just do it to have someone to tease. Tsuyoshi makes it easy for them too. He gets drunk, and he is funny when he’s drunk, he knows, and then they can make fun of him all they want.

Sometimes he gets drunk and attempts to suck his band mate’s face off, though, and that’s still the biggest problem of his life right now, he recalls.

“It’d be just easier if you told him, you know,” Goro says and Tsuyoshi forgets how to speak for a moment.

“Wha... Uh. Shingo told you _that_ as well?” He can’t believe it, to the point that he even forgets to be incredibly embarrassed.

Goro smiles, in that soft way that makes his face wrinkle, which means it’s genuine. It’s a tiny bit reassuring.

“Do you...” Tsuyoshi chokes, thinking if he really wants to ask, but then he’s already so deep down the road to hell, some more humiliation can’t hurt him much. “Do you think Kimura-kun would... If I told him?”

What he means to ask is if Goro thinks he has a chance (Goro knows Kimura the best after all), but he can’t, because he can’t even think that there might exist a universe in which he has a chance.

Goro shrugs, toying with the paper cup he’s been drinking from.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just thought it’d be more like you to come out with a confession. Instead of drunk kissing attacks.”

Tsuyoshi smiles back, even though he doesn’t think coming out with confessions is anything like him, but he is strangely grateful for Goro’s thoughtless honesty. Goro promises he will keep the secret and laughs at Tsuyoshi’s idea that Kimura is scary.

(Almost three years later Goro will be suspended and Tsuyoshi will have the dressing room to himself and sometimes he will feel lonely.)

xxx

Tsuyoshi is used to losing. Kimura is used to winning. Kimura is not used to losing and Tsuyoshi is not used to losing alongside Kimura. When it turns out they’ve lost and they’re going to climb Mount Fuji together, they both feel like they might cry, although for different reasons.

Kimura just hates losing. And climbing.

Tsuyoshi could climb Fuji three times if that’s what it takes, as long as he doesn’t have to do it with Kimura. Scared, no, he wouldn’t say he’s scared. He’s absolutely petrified, blood below freezing point and trying very hard not to shake. He considers quitting entertainment world altogether.

Then Shingo catches him looking through job ads in a paper and smacks his head and asks what he’s thinking. He wrenches the truth out of Tsuyoshi with a determination only Shingo has for wrenching things out of Tsuyoshi, and tells him that he’s stupid.

“Are you kidding? You’re going to spend the whole day with him and you’ll be overcoming the hardships together!” he proclaims in a slightly terrifying, inspired manner. “It’s your great chance!”

Tsuyoshi still tries not to think about chances too much. He can’t help thinking about the kiss, though, but when he mentions it, Shingo doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. It was months ago. Kimura surely won’t remember it either, Shingo assures him, and tells him to gather his courage.

So Tsuyoshi gets awfully drunk.

xxx

“See, i’s not really m’fault. ‘Is just, ‘t feels kind’ good. Yanno? I mean, I dun mean t’get _that_ drunk...” he realises he’s been sort of apologising to the fridge when the door behind him swings and Kimura comes back. Then he realises it’s probably around midnight (it’s actually past two) and he’s still sitting in Kimura’s hotel room and they should probably be going to bed now to be ready for the climb tomorrow, but Tsuyoshi doesn’t feel like going to bed, not just yet, not when he’s feeling so great and he’s spending time with Kimura, and he lunges at the fridge and hugs her and begs her not to tell him to go, he doesn’t want to go.

“God, Tsuyoshi...” Kimura sighs and collapses on the bed with his arms spread wide to the sides and Tsuyoshi forgets the fridge. His face flushes because he remembers the numerous secret fantasies he’s had in which Kimura sighed like this and said his name, and hearing it for real makes him feel hot, even if the context isn’t quite right. He crawls to the foot of the bed and hauls himself onto it, landing on Kimura’s arm and with his face on Kimura’s chest.

Kimura laughs as he pushes him off (he’s considerably tipsy himself, albeit nowhere near Tsuyoshi’s level) and then they’re lying next to each other across the bed and giggling into the covers. Tsuyoshi feels so great, he feels he could do anything, feels like flying, like taking to the sky, right off this bed, right now.

He stills, catching his breath, while Kimura throws his head back, messy curls all over his eyes and he looks so pretty Tsuyoshi wants to kiss him. He knows better, though, this time. He searches for all the energy he has left to gain back the control of his muscles and says with as little slurring as possible, “Kimura-kun. I’m kinda in love with you.”

Kimura erupts in another fit of giggles, which makes Tsuyoshi laugh too and it’s another moment before they both calm down.

“I thought so,” Kimura says.

Tsuyoshi thinks maybe he’s asleep and this is a dream he’s having.

They’re both lying on their backs in silence, for minutes or hours; Tsuyoshi is afraid to move in case he might break this spell that seems to be binding them here in this place, he’s not sure how it works. Kimura doesn’t seem to be moving either, but the air on his side is warm with thoughts. The air on Tsuyoshi’s side is cool and breezy, there’s nothing in his head except for the fog, the cotton-candy-like fog that makes him unable to tell the difference between eyes closed and eyes open or between himself and the bed, and maybe that’s really why he can’t move. Then he knows, rather than feels, the bed beside him dips and Kimura rolls over onto him and kisses him.

It’s just a peck on the lips, something small and funny, and Kimura indeed grins into it, lifting his head almost immediately. He’s visibly surprised when Tsuyoshi snakes his arms around his back and doesn’t let him go, leaning up to him but stopping millimetres from his face.

“Tsu—” Kimura starts.

“Let’s kiss,” Tsuyoshi interrupts him like it’s his idea, except that it comes out more like, “Lesskiss,” so obviously intoxicated that he would find it humiliating if he were any more aware.

Kimura faces away and makes a snorting sound like he’s trying not to laugh, but then he looks back with dark serious eyes. It sends shivers down Tsuyoshi’s spine and, as embarrassing as it is, it makes his hips jerk up. Kimura couldn’t have missed it.

“You sure?”

Tsuyoshi gives some noncommittal groan in response. They end up kissing anyway.

His memory of this will become nothing more than a blur and he’ll be cursing himself for being so drunk. It’ll be a dreamy flash in sepia, like it’s never happened, colours bled out. And it doesn’t feel much different than that time he kissed Kimura, except that now he’s on his back and he can feel the weight of another human being on top of himself and it’s good, so good, just like the hands are, Kimura’s hands that comb through his hair, brush his face, roam his body, he doesn’t know, but they’re on him and that’s good too. He supposes Kimura is a great kisser, he must be, even if Tsuyoshi barely knows what’s going on and more than the kiss, it’s the heat in his body, the tingling, the sweatiness.

Kimura’s shirt must’ve rolled up somewhere on the way (at least Tsuyoshi doesn’t remember doing anything to it) because when he puts his hand on the small of Kimura’s back, his fingertips touch smooth naked skin that he can’t help but trace lightly. Kimura seems to approve, if the pleased hum he gives is anything to go by, and that in turn makes Tsuyoshi sigh with almost tangible pleasure, because hey, he’s doing something to Kimura that Kimura likes. The truly tangible pleasure in his pants is a little bit worrying, he doesn’t want to be that desperate guy that gets totally hard from a casual make out session – which is what this is, he’s not as clueless as to think otherwise. Not that he can think much with Kimura’s tongue in his mouth and with how the room doesn’t stop spinning and oh god oh god, don’t let it stop.

He drags his nails across Kimura’s back when Kimura shifts to kiss his neck; it’s so comfortable it’s dangerous because Tsuyoshi is starting to lose any sense of connection with the room he’s in. In the space under his eyelids there’s only Kimura and he and only as much of the bed as they need to be on, and it’s all rotating like a fucking planet and yes oh yes, Kimura is pulling Tsuyoshi’s shirt up. Tsuyoshi wonders if this can become a casual fuck before Kimura sobers up, as he sits up to undress more easily, but maybe he misunderstood because Kimura is pushing him right back onto the mattress, he just wants to suck on the skin of his stomach and okay, it’s not like Tsuyoshi minds that either...

Then he doesn’t know what’s going on.

Then he wakes up on the floor.

It’s still dark and he struggles to get up because he really needs the bathroom. He’s almost up on his feet when he steps on what must be a couple of beer cans, judging by the awful noise they make, and he falls back on his butt.

Something rises on the bed.

“Tsuyoshi?”

“Kimura-kun. Help,” Tsuyoshi says pathetically and pretends not to hear the curses Kimura mutters under his breath as he gets out of bed, because he really, really needs the bathroom.

xxx

All of this is hell, but when they lie on the ground and the sun is right above them and the sky is everywhere, Tsuyoshi thinks there just might be a pinch of heaven in it.

Every time he feels like this, when the hangover is seemingly draining his body of every good thing there is in it, leaving only poison, he promises himself he won’t drink ever again (that much; when he has work the next day). And then he does it again. This time, he promises himself he will never ever drink when he has to climb Mount Fuji the next day, and then laughs bitterly at how ridiculous it sounds.

The only thing that stops him from bending in half and throwing his insides up is Kimura’s brilliant mood. Tsuyoshi knows what a fool it makes him, but whenever he sees Kimura’s cheeky grin, he forgives himself a little.

And Kimura is looking out for him.

After all that happened last night.

Tsuyoshi leans back on his elbows, eyes closed and face turned up, absorbing the sunlight like it might help him somehow. The stony ground isn’t exactly comfortable but anything is more comfortable than walking right now. He hears the click of Kimura’s lighter next to him, closer than he thought Kimura was sitting and it makes him nervous, but it also makes his chest fill up with those little fluffy fluttering things that might be feelings in overdrive or a heart disease. He sincerely hopes it’s not the latter. It’s hard enough to climb with a hangover from hell, he’s not sure he could do it if his heart was going to give out.

Kimura passes him his smoke (after nudging him with his foot to get Tsuyoshi to open his eyes) and Tsuyoshi accepts, seeing it more like a token of... something, he isn’t sure what, than a mere cigarette.

Kimura _cares_ about him.

“So I guess you really meant it.”

“Uh, what?” Tsuyoshi asks. He wasn’t even saying anything just now and Kimura’s sudden question, which didn’t sound like a question at all, shoves him outside his inner happy bubble.

“Last night.” Kimura glances at him from behind the sunglasses as if making sure Tsuyoshi is still with him. “What you said, that you...”

“Ah, yes,” Tsuyoshi says quickly when he catches up because Kimura saying it aloud would make it so much worse. “I did.”

The next drag of the cigarette burns his lips. Kimura stares at him for a split second too long and Tsuyoshi realises a split second too late that he could’ve just denied it, said it was nothing else than a silly joke, and even if Kimura didn’t believe him, they could both pretend. Now he’s just ripped a raw piece of truth off and threw it at Kimura’s feet, where it landed with a splash for him to pick up or kick away. Disgusting. Tsuyoshi realises he’s a disgusting human being.

“I’m sorry,” Kimura says.

Tsuyoshi frantically gives the cigarette back to him and drags himself to his feet, looking around for someone from staff because he’s going to be sick.

 

(It’s a different day, a different week, he’s lying awake at night and it comes to him: that when Kimura looks out for him, when Kimura cares, he does it like for a little brother. It makes him feel so stupid he tries to smother himself with a pillow.

It doesn’t work.)

xxx

II.

– a day on which Takuya finds himself girlfriendless and depressed –

The sky is like one huge installation that’s about to fall down in pieces and the stars are nothing but metal dust. Takuya kicks a can and curses life, considering the many ways in which he could get totally fucked up and finished. He thinks of getting wasted at some bar and getting into a fist fight with the first fucker that’s stupid enough not to recognise a desperate man when he sees one, there’s surely plenty of them in the town, dammit, and where is Nakai when you need him.

(Nakai actually told him to stop calling the second time Takuya tried because he was seeing that new girl of his and it seemed like she might finally invite him over tonight so shut up, Kimura, not everyone is as lucky as you, and the irony of it squeezed Takuya’s throat so tight he couldn’t even wish Nakai to go to hell before Nakai hung up.)

A cat dashes from under a car and disappears on the other side of the street. Takuya kicks the can after it because damn, he hates cats. Little furry fuckers. Speaking of which, he could go to Goro’s, but Goro will just sit him down with a bottle of expensive wine and listen to him and he’ll end up sleeping on Goro’s couch and it will make him feel even more heart-broken or broken-hearted or just plain miserable the next day.

It’s pure chance that he meets Tsuyoshi.

He doesn’t even know where exactly Tsuyoshi lives and he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, so it’s not like his feet has brought him here – wherever _here_ is, he’s not sure – with any purpose. If he had to choose between fate and coincidences, he’d rather believe in coincidences because the thought that fate could be that cruel is plain scary. That’s in perspective, though, much later; right now, Takuya meets Tsuyoshi and doesn’t think too much into it. Tsuyoshi is walking down the road, with a bag full of some food items and a conspicuous bottle of whiskey, and he needs to look twice before he goes, “Oh,” and stops.

“Hey,” Takuya says. The lost look on Tsuyoshi’s face makes him grin in spite of himself.

Then Tsuyoshi smiles back with so much hesitation that Takuya could feel hurt if he weren’t feeling so empty.

And maybe they won’t go drinking because with Tsuyoshi and with Takuya’s destructive state of mind they’d probably wake up the next morning by some dumpster, without their wallets and/or kidneys, and Takuya has enough sense left to know that. But suddenly walking side by side and not talking is enough of a substitute for a company and Takuya finds, a small surprise, that being around Tsuyoshi makes him feel a little _easier_. He knows it’s unreasonable and that he should feel at least a little bit awkward with a guy that confessed to him and made out with him and they haven’t properly talked about it because they never properly talk, and yet the buzzing in his head somewhat subsides. Even if he needs to focus more, with Tsuyoshi, who is like a different language. It’s not the words he speaks, Tsuyoshi is a different language himself: one that Takuya never tried to learn well but likes the sound of.

Something, a tiny wicked voice at the back of his head – or it could be coming from deep in his stomach too – wonders what it would be like with Tsuyoshi. What it would be like if Takuya could answer.

That’s not why he ends up in Tsuyoshi’s kitchen, watching him put the food into the fridge, listening to pop songs from the radio that’s standing on the counter. It’s because Tsuyoshi invited him in.

Then there’s only the whiskey left on the table and Tsuyoshi asking if he wants a drink and Takuya knows Tsuyoshi’s been drinking way too much lately and that he should say something about that, but he wants someone else to play the responsible adult for once and he wants a fucking drink.

Tsuyoshi stands right next to him, taking the glasses out.

“Kimura-kun...” he says, and stops, _can I ask you something?_ suspended in the air and Takuya is stubbornly not making things easy for him because he wants Tsuyoshi to stop being so damn terrified of talking to him. “...is something wrong?”

The fact that Tsuyoshi noticed makes Takuya wonder bitterly just how fucking obvious he’s been.

“I’m wrong. I guess. I’m completely wrong.”

Tsuyoshi turns to him and smiles.

“You’re not. You’re all kinds of right, Kimura-kun.”

And Takuya wants to punch him, mostly because he’s wanted to punch someone the whole night, but he also wants to apologise to him because no matter what it is that Tsuyoshi sees when he looks at Takuya, Takuya knows it’s not him. It’s some kind of illusion, a shiny charm that makes him seem like he’s stepping above the earth and glimmering at the edges like a better person than he really is; so he’s always taken Tsuyoshi’s crush for a superficial phase that’s going to pass sooner or later. It makes his insides flip to catch himself being so unfair. He’s not good at acknowledging his own mistakes.

And he’s better at kissing than saying sorry.

Tsuyoshi makes a startled sound when Takuya crowds him against the counter, jutting hip against jutting hip, but his hands go automatically back to brace himself rather than up to push Takuya away, which is enough of a consent Takuya needs (and the only consent he will get). He’s still slow and careful when he leans in and catches Tsuyoshi’s lower lip between his. There’s an awkward pause when they both seem like they might say something, but neither does and Takuya tilts Tsuyoshi’s head with his hand and kisses him _for real_.

In a way this is as if they’re kissing for the first time, and not just because it turns out Tsuyoshi’s way more adept at kissing when he’s sober, but this is the first time Takuya feels he’s kissing Tsuyoshi a person, not a body with no capacity for memory. And god, how he wants to, how he’s burning and how he wants to burn himself into Tsuyoshi’s memory, how he wants to be the best thing Tsuyoshi’s ever had.

He’s still holding Tsuyoshi’s face with his hand, the softness of his touch a sharp contrast to the violent urgency of his tongue entering Tsuyoshi’s mouth. He shivers, thinking of other ways he could enter him and he feels himself reacting to the thought in places that he didn’t think would get involved but now they just might. He grinds with premeditation, the press of their lips loosening, and he gets a moan in response, oh yes. Yes Takuya, if only you stopped thinking with your cock for a moment, but it’s too late, Tsuyoshi puts his hands on his waist and pulls him closer – which, admittedly, doesn’t leave much space for more friction, but this works too. There’s a certain sense of confinement in feeling the hard lines of the other’s chest against his, not soft breasts that might get awkwardly squished, but there’s something liberating about it at the same time and he wants to see what else he can feel. Tsuyoshi lets out a tiny groan again that he is no doubt embarrassed of when Takuya shoves him harder into the kitchen counter, and yet his mouth remains open and welcoming every lewd thing Takuya’s tongue might decide to do to it or in it or god, fuck, how come this is so good.

Tsuyoshi drags his teeth down Takuya’s lip and immediately pulls back to say sorry, which he never gets a chance to do as Takuya shushes him breathlessly, kissing him again but much slower and softer, wandering away to Tsuyoshi’s jaw and neck; pushing his hands between their bodies. The hem of Tsuyoshi’s t-shirt is loose and it’s way too easy to roll it up a little bit and caress Tsuyoshi’s abs with his fingers. The skin is hot and smooth and tempting; in fact it’s tempting enough for Takuya to run his hands down all the way to the waistband of Tsuyoshi’s jeans and flick the button open.

Tsuyoshi starts like suddenly waking up from a dream, “Kimura-kun,” he says, mewls in a way that could be a plea to stop or to continue. Takuya bets on the latter and with just a shade of triumphant grin against, at the moment, Tsuyoshi’s earlobe, he pulls the zipper down and digs his hand in.

He’s never gripped any erection other than his own but well – there’s a first for everything.

Even through the fabric of Tsuyoshi’s underwear it’s hot in his palm and when he gives it an experimental squeeze, Tsuyoshi seems to choke slightly; Takuya observes it all too well because Tsuyoshi is breathing right into the side of his face. The knowledge of what he can do, what kind of power he holds over the other person, what kind of mess he can reduce them to is his sweetest ultimate turn-on. The way Tsuyoshi submits is beautiful and makes his knees kind of weak. He won’t stop now until he’s seen all of it.

Tsuyoshi makes a series of weird movements with his arms, clueless where to put his hands until one of them desperately twists into Takuya’s shirt and he seems to be hanging in the air, with his ass against the counter, like his legs won’t support him anymore. Takuya keeps kissing him, wherever there’s a patch of skin he can suck on, working his hand in Tsuyoshi’s pants in no hurry. He thinks he’s found a special spot when he has his mouth a little bit under Tsuyoshi’s ear and his band mate moans and thrusts into his hand, so he kisses there again and more; it turns all red and it’s like leaving a memo for later.

He has to admit he’s caught by surprise when Tsuyoshi goes for his pants in turn.

“Can I...?” he asks, tugging at the waistband and Takuya has to roll his eyes, even if Tsuyoshi is looking down and can’t see.

“Do you even need to ask?” His voice sounds warm although he doesn’t intend it to. Maybe it’s his conscience getting ahead of him, trying to reassure Tsuyoshi that what they’re doing is not wrong – or it’s himself that needs this kind of reassurance. Tsuyoshi doesn’t seem morally conflicted as he pushes Takuya’s pants down.

Then they’re just crashing – hard – more, like that – mouths locked again and hips moving in a rhythm, although it’s mostly Takuya’s hips and Takuya’s rhythm, a merciless grind for gratification with an occasional groan between tongues lips teeth skin and Tsuyoshi can do nothing but reply to it. It’s the kind of exchange that aims at nothing, the kind that’s built up of pretty but empty words, Takuya still isn’t a fluent speaker and there’s a barrier between their chests pressed so close together. A song starts playing on the radio and the voice is familiar. Takuya reaches to turn it off, irritated, and knocks the radio to the floor, where it breaks and at least it’s stopped playing and he doesn’t say sorry and then they break apart too.

This should be the moment when reality kicks back in, when things break and people ask themselves what exactly it is that they’re doing as they’re standing there with red swollen lips and shaky hands and there’s no further to go than all the way. Tsuyoshi’s cheeks are flushed and he’s stubbornly looking away, his boxers soaked with pre-cum at the front and Takuya is really not going to judge because his own are bundled down, hard-on poking over the waistband and he can’t even step away with pants around his ankles. He’d laugh at himself if his chest wasn’t feeling too tight to let any laughs out.

This is his moment to get himself back together, say sorry and flee.

“Bed...” he says instead and can’t recognise his own voice. “Where’s your bedroom?”

xxx

He tells himself it’s not just curiosity, but it’s little more than that, just that he needs to be with someone and Tsuyoshi happens to be available and this really doesn’t sound any better. He almost backs out when they land on Tsuyoshi’s bed and when his hesitation is spelling _so how are we going to do this?_ Tsuyoshi smoothly hands him a small bottle and condoms; it occurs to him that Tsuyoshi’s been sleeping with guys a lot and probably knows things that Takuya doesn’t and oh, how he hates to be outdone, and by Tsuyoshi of all people. This is sex, Takuya, it’s not about losing or winning, but the switch inside him has clicked on already, the bells ring the fight and this is why he’ll be too ashamed to think back to this night later, not because he didn’t want to do it or whatever Tsuyoshi might think it is.

He wants to do it, oh, he does.

And he quickly finds himself only spurred further on, utterly mesmerised by the connection between the subtle shifts of his fingers inside Tsuyoshi and the reactions they elicit: the way Tsuyoshi arches his back, the tone of the muffled sounds he makes, the whiteness of his knuckles when he grips the sheets; the way his cock leaks (and Takuya licks his lips absentmindedly but he doesn’t think he’s ready to transcend that far). It doesn’t take long for Tsuyoshi to start begging and for him to brace himself above his band mate and by now he’s getting impatient.

“Slow–er,” Tsuyoshi chokes out, focusing on Takuya’s face for a moment – and probably by accident because he’s still not looking at him. Takuya wants him to. He stops.

“Look at me,” he says in a voice that he hopes sounds commanding and not overly desperate. “I won’t go on if you don’t look at me.”

All Tsuyoshi needs is a second to gather his courage and then he’s holding Takuya’s gaze. He seems both challenging and embarrassed, like his facade is faltering despite his efforts to keep it up and Takuya finds it _rather_ arousing. He pushes in much slower this time; it takes all he has. Tsuyoshi immediately lowers his eyelids and arches slightly.

“You okay?” Takuya asks because this could be a good sign or a bad sign.

Tsuyoshi nods fervently and remembers he was supposed to _look_ but Takuya isn’t all that intent on making him, he just needs to know Tsuyoshi is enjoying this, because he is enjoying this, he wants to drive into this hot tightness, tight hotness again and again and again even as he’s carefully rolling his hips now and drawing masochistic pleasure from having to hold back (there is such part of him too, as tiny as it is; or maybe sadistic and masochistic inclinations are just different sides of the same coin, but that’s a philosophical question for an entirely different time).

Then the lines of Tsuyoshi’s face start relaxing and it’s more of a hint than Tsuyoshi croaking out, “Kimura-kun...”

“Tell me,” Takuya says, grabbing Tsuyoshi’s leg and leaning forward, “you have to tell me.”

“Please. Fuck me.”

“I am fucking you, stupid,” he hisses, pulling out then almost all the way, “in case you haven’t noticed.” And he drives into him hard and Tsuyoshi groans and it gets easy, with little space for thought and a lot of space for fast, almost angry thrusts and fingers digging into flesh and breathless words slipping through dry lips.

Right before he comes, Takuya has a flash of revelation that he could see it becoming more than a one-night-mistake, that all they ever needed was a chance to try. He can’t remember having this thought later.

xxx

It’s the deep middle of the night when Takuya sneaks out of Tsuyoshi’s bed. He thinks of going home – or anywhere really, he’s not that keen on going to his empty home – but somehow it doesn’t seem right when he’s picking his clothes up as soundlessly as he possibly can, so he just leaves them where they are on the floor and tiptoes to the kitchen instead. Moving around an unfamiliar place in the dark makes him feel like a thief, and he hates that, like he’s taken something he wasn’t supposed to. The sound of his bare feet hitting the floor seems exceptionally loud and he wouldn’t be surprised if the entire neighbourhood was currently awake, listening, why is that guy making so much noise?

He finds the switch for a little lamp over the counter but not before he’s stepped on something and he curses under his breath because shit, it hurts. The yellowish light reveals the offender as a piece of the broken radio. He crouches down. He has nothing better to do and he could use something to focus on, so he might try to put it back together just as well.

That’s how Tsuyoshi finds him around half an hour later, although Takuya doesn’t notice him immediately and for a moment Tsuyoshi is just watching him try to do the impossible with persistence worthy of a better cause and growing frustration because it just won’t happen.

“Uh... Kimura-kun,” he finally says. Takuya looks up at him. Tsuyoshi’s voice is raspy and he’s still blinking sleep off, hair sticking out in different directions. At least he’s put some sweats on and it’s only now that Takuya realises how cold it is as he’s sitting on the kitchen floor in a pair of boxers. He shivers and quickly shrugs, making it seem like he didn’t, and yet his skin feels tight and feverish and maybe not really his.

“I was wondering where you’ve gone...” Tsuyoshi trails off, probably realising that it’s not the right thing to say. There might be no right things to say left between them anymore and Takuya finds it ironic. He knows Tsuyoshi is trying to make sense of the situation but all the pieces keep falling out of his hands and nothing matches. Takuya knows the feeling.

“You have a screwdriver?”

“Bottom drawer,” Tsuyoshi points with his chin automatically, where someone else would ask why do you need a screwdriver at four a.m. and just leave this shit and come to bed. That’s a sort of a good thing about Tsuyoshi. Takuya likes it. He thinks of going back to bed with Tsuyoshi and kissing him again.

 

(He manages to piss Nakai off during the rehearsal next day – Nakai’s date might have not gone according to plan after all. Takuya’s cheek is still swollen when Nakai shares the ice with him, which is his way of apologising and Takuya almost refuses. He thinks of telling Nakai, but he’s already done enough wrong to people he cares about this week and he doesn’t think he could stand disappointing another one.

He decides to give it some time.)

xxx

III.

– the year in which one of them gets married –

The night of Shingo’s twenty-third birthday is a disaster of pathetic kind.

They all come except for Nakai, and on the way to a bar they end up drinking in a car park a block away from Shingo’s house because someone thought it’d be a great idea. It isn’t. It’s freezing, they keep skipping from one foot to another, toes curling in boots, and Shingo decides to set a waste container on fire for some warmth. Kimura smacks him upside the head but doesn’t stop him. There is a childish part of Kimura that finds setting waste containers on fire quite amusing.

Tsuyoshi watches him standing with Goro, the two of them talking in low voices in a way that looks very private. Goro’s cheeks are red. He must be complaining about the cold and Kimura gives him one of his gloves so that they each have a glove to hold their respective bottles of wine and they each hide the other hand in a pocket. Goro says something and Kimura laughs and thrusts his hip up, offering Goro his own pocket.

Tsuyoshi would like to have the guts to walk up and slide his own hands into Kimura’s pockets, maybe making him laugh or pissing him off, it doesn’t really matter. It wouldn’t have to be anything more than friendly; he knows it’s just friendly with Goro. He’s frozen to the ground.

He takes another sip from the paper cup he’s holding.

Shingo finally gets the container to burn.

Everything becomes a mess in Tsuyoshi’s head.

(If someone asked him why he was getting so terribly drunk, he’d say that it makes him feel good. Feel good, feel good, it’s like a prayer in his head, a chant of a spell, over and over again. It makes him forget the worst morning after of his life, when Kimura made breakfast and apologised, he actually _apologised_ to Tsuyoshi; and the fact that every time he watches Kimura, he remembers that night and he can’t talk to him without blushing; and how easily Kimura seems to have got over it.

Getting wasted out of his skull feels like he’s being set free and the free Tsuyoshi feels so good _so good_ that he never wants it to stop, so he keeps drinking; he can’t stop.

The only thing that matters in all this is that he really can’t fucking stop.)

His eyes are closed but he’s still quite sure the ground is not where it’s supposed to be.

The white noise in his ears becomes voices, voices become words, words become meaning. It takes a while.

“...a cab, Takuya?”

“...not sure. We should probably wait...”

“...cold. I’ll go with him. You can wait for Shingo.”

“...in a minute. And you won’t carry him by yourself.”

“...can walk.”

“Maybe. Goro, listen...”

“...tell Shingo. I’ll be right back.”

Footsteps. Probably. He tries to concentrate on opening his eyes, but everything is dark.

“...shi. Tsuyoshi. You hear me?”

Kimura.

“Mmhmyeah...” He nods his head automatically. His head feels weird when he’s moving it, like he’s falling.

“Look at me.”

The world comes back to him in pieces. The ground is right in his face because he’s upside down, he’s not upside down, just bent down, sitting on something cold and hard, he’s sitting on some stairs, in a street he doesn’t recognise. He’s going to fall. He tries to pull himself up not to fall and his hand feels strange. His hand feels strange and a good part of the sleeve of his jacket is burnt. He grabs onto something and pulls himself up.

He’s sitting up. Kimura is in front of him.

“You alright?”

He doesn’t feel alright but he nods anyway.

“K—Kimura... kun,” he slurs.

“It’s alright. We’ll get you home.”

But there’s something he really needs to say.

“Kimura-kun... I like you, Kimura-kun.”

He doesn’t know what’s funny about that and why Kimura is laughing.

“I like you too, Tsuyoshi,” Kimura says when he’s not laughing.

“Kimura-kun... Did I set myself... on fire?”

“You kind of did. And you didn’t even notice. We put it out.”

“Th—thanks.”

Kimura is stroking his arm, to make him warmer or to make him better or just absentmindedly, Tsuyoshi doesn’t know but it’s working. He knows he fucked up but he’s too tired and nauseous and dizzy to drown himself in guilt and shame just yet. And he’s shivering, he notices, the cold seeps through his clothes, through his skin, right to his bones. Damn, he’s sobering.

“Kimura-kun. Can we go home?”

Kimura lowers himself to one knee between Tsuyoshi’s legs so that their faces are centimetres apart.

“Sure. Goro will be back in a moment with Shingo and we’ll take you home.”

“But I mean,” his teeth are chattering too much, “together, can we? Go home with me, Kimura-kun.”

Kimura closes his eyes briefly, just a little bit longer than a blink. He’s rubbing Tsuyoshi’s thigh now and Tsuyoshi is convinced he’s going to die if Kimura stops.

“I can’t,” Kimura says. “You know I can’t, right?”

Tsuyoshi knows. He knows he’s practically a beggar now, he doesn’t even want to say these things but they spill out of him like they don’t want to stay inside his head anymore, it’s such a sad, sickening place.

Then he thinks he’s falling, but Kimura catches him, it’s actually Kimura pulling him, to put his arms around Tsuyoshi’s shivering body.

“You’re freezing,” Kimura says into his ear, as if Tsuyoshi doesn’t know, as if it’s all about freezing and keeping warm and no broken hearts and no hurt prides. “Put your hands into my pockets.” Tsuyoshi’s hands are caught between their bodies and it’s weird, but he locates the pockets of Kimura’s jacket and slips them in.

They must look ridiculous, huddled together on the ground into a ball of legs in jeans and curly hair and furry collars, but there’s no one to see, and actually Tsuyoshi wouldn’t mind if someone did see. He wriggles his fingers slightly because they’ve been getting numb with the cold. Then he laughs.

“What?”

“You carry dog food in your pocket?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Kimura says sheepishly.

Tsuyoshi laughs again. He hopes Goro and Shingo never come back and they stay like this and they don’t even need to talk, he doesn’t actually want to talk because there’s nothing to say, he’d probably just kill this if he were to say anything.

“Ugh,” Tsuyoshi says and he suddenly turns to the side and throws up.

xxx

It is an undeniable fact that Nakai’s bathtub is small. Tsuyoshi wonders if Nakai even takes baths, he’s always pegged him as the shower type. His legs are starting to ache from the uncomfortable position. He thinks maybe it’d be better if he took his shoes off, but he’d have to move to take his shoes off. He doesn’t want to move. Even if it’s uncomfortable, his aversion to moving is greater.

“If you wanted to take a bath, this is not how you do it.”

Nakai is standing in the doorway, more like slumping in the doorway, old sweatpants and a particularly ugly shirt and hair in his face, strangely familiar like that.

“I love you, Nakai-kun,” Tsuyoshi says, revelling in how easy it is to say when they both know what he means.

“Disgusting.”

Tsuyoshi grins. A drop of water falls to his face from the tap and he tries to lick it off but his tongue won’t reach.

“So, care to tell me why you’re in my tub in your clothes acting like a moron?” Nakai tries again. “Seriously. I thought you just left or something.”

“I don’t know,” Tsuyoshi admits. “I think I’m going to stay here.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Tsuyoshi thinks how easy it would be to live in Nakai’s bathroom, lie in his tub and never move again. Nakai would come home and stop in the doorway, slump in the doorway, and bitch at him; and Tsuyoshi’s face would be constantly wet from the dripping water because Nakai would never get it fixed. Sometimes Shingo would come to see him, bringing beer and food and leaving trash all over the floor that would make Nakai mad. Goro would occasionally come too, even if Nakai wouldn’t want to let him in, but then the two of them would end up laughing together in the kitchen leaving Tsuyoshi to himself and he wouldn’t even mind. It would be a good kind of life. Simple.

Sometimes they would mention Kimura to him and he would nod, pretending he doesn’t care, until he really wouldn’t care anymore.

“You need anything in there?” Nakai asks.

“Another drink?” Tsuyoshi raises his empty glass.

“Then go and get it. I’m not your maid,” Nakai says and leaves.

Tsuyoshi reaches up and turns the water on.

xxx

His mornings become scary and painful in a monotonous way. More than once he wakes up with puke on his t-shirt, or sleeping on the tiles of his bathroom floor, or with dirt on his clothes and he can’t figure out where it came from. Once he wakes up with a black eye he really doesn’t know how he got.

(Once he spills tomato sauce on Kimura’s shoes because he doesn’t look where he’s going, but he’s also come to work hung over and Kimura gets mad.)

He hooks up with some guys whose faces he can’t remember the next day, except for that one that threatens to go to the tabloids until Tsuyoshi gives him money. It doesn’t even feel good with them. It doesn’t feel like anything at all.

Sometimes Shingo or Nakai go drinking with him and it’s slightly better then. They keep him from crossing the line between making a fool of himself and making a fool of himself in potentially dangerous ways. That’s what friends are for. But when he’s alone, or ends up with people he can’t recognise, he knows there’s nothing to stop him. He’s absolutely free.

When he lies across the road, pressing his cheek to the asphalt because that’s what’s going to make him feel better, he thinks how tricky freedom is. He doesn’t understand why people long to be free so much. It basically means that you’re on your own and you don’t care about anyone.

Once he calls Kimura. He can’t remember if he’s ever called Kimura in his life (and not just because he’s drunk again), but he got the number from Goro and pretty much memorised it by the time he has the guts to use it. He isn’t sure what he’s going to say but he wants to talk and he believes that, as long as he doesn’t sound _too_ drunk, Kimura will humour him.

Three, four signals. Then a distinctly girly voice. Tsuyoshi sees black spots, they’re dancing tango.

“He’s in the shower. Is it urgent? I’ll tell him to call you back,” Shizuka is saying.

“No... Uh, no, it’s... I just. No.”

She laughs and he can’t see her but he remembers how stunning she is.

“You’re adorable,” she tells him.

“...uhm sorry,” Tsuyoshi tells her.

He’s not sure if he’s sorry for calling, for being in love with her boyfriend or for being adorable and he hopes he’s not thinking it out loud.

The sky above him looks like a fish tank.

xxx

It will take Takuya a while to realise that when other people don’t seem to get angry as much as he does, it’s not always that they don’t care. Sometimes they just believe there’s nothing they can do. It never crosses Takuya’s mind that there might be nothing he can do, and when there is nothing, he’s still angry, even angrier.

So maybe that’s why he seems to be more generally angry than other people and maybe that’s why Tsuyoshi is scared of him – or maybe no one else is really bothered by Kusanagi Tsuyoshi who comes to work hung over, in yesterday’s clothes, with dark purplish shadows under his eyes, barely able to stand.

It isn’t right. According to Takuya, it isn’t right and he tells Tsuyoshi exactly that.

“No, Kimura-kun, it isn’t,” Tsuyoshi agrees and promptly falls asleep with his head on the table.

Takuya buys a punching bag because his recurring urges to hit something feel like potential for a scandal.

(It’s not much later that he finds his potential for a scandal of a different kind. It’s like the universe smiled at him wickedly and asked, well, and what are you going to do with this?)

xxx

When he tells them he’s getting married, the only one not looking at him is Tsuyoshi.

Nakai goes into momentary panic – you’re not quitting, right, Kimura, you can’t quit, you hear me, you can’t – and Goro has to wrap an arm around his back and tell him that, “It’s alright, Nakai-kun, no one is quitting.” Takuya is glad he told Goro earlier because he needs support right now. Shingo stares at him in wonder for quite a while but once he’s gathered his wits; he hugs Takuya and congratulates him. Nakai calms down too and tries to cover up for his fit by angrily telling him he’s a lucky bastard after all. In the chaos of everyone digesting the news, there’s no attention left for Tsuyoshi, who hovers slightly at the back of the circle of his fellow members, currently demanding to know everything about the baby, and then slips out of the room. Takuya tries to wave them off, “We don’t know anything yet, are you all stupid?” and searches for one gaze he wants to catch right now and is surprised Tsuyoshi is nowhere to be seen.

Shingo pulls him aside by the elbow and leans to his ear, “I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry.”

Takuya nods.

“Tell him... tell him I want to talk to him face to face.”

Tsuyoshi doesn’t want to talk to him. He later texts him with congratulations and a smiley face and by the way he misspells one word twice Takuya can tell he’s drinking.

xxx

– the year in which they’re missing one –

(Takuya and Nakai both agree that one good thing that has come from it is that they all become much closer as a group – the four of them as they’re filling Goro’s space with each other, and the five of them when they realise how much they need every single piece of the weird puzzle that SMAP is for it to exist. Takuya and Nakai also agree never to tell this to Goro so that he doesn’t misunderstand it as his personal merit. Then they stop agreeing because that much agreeing makes them feel kind of sick.)

 

Tsuyoshi is lying on the stage with a towel over his face; it’s half past noon and long past the hour until which Takuya finds this kind of behaviour acceptable. He nudges Tsuyoshi with his foot.

“Don’t you think you could cut on the drinking sometimes?”

Tsuyoshi lifts the towel and squints at him in the bright light. His face looks beyond devastated.

“I’ll be fine for the concert,” he says in the raspy voice that still gives Takuya a weird sort of squeeze in his stomach every time he hears it. He drags his foot away.

“You told me that it was alright now. Between us.”

Tsuyoshi blinks a couple of times and if it’s because of the lights or because he doesn’t get what Takuya is saying, it’s hard to tell.

“...I don’t drink because of you, Kimura-kun.”

“I know, but...” Takuya bites his lip. He did think it was because of him, at least partially. Maybe he’s been giving himself too much credit or Tsuyoshi just doesn’t want to admit it or both. Sometimes he reminds himself five times a day that not everything is about him. It’s still easy to forget. He isn’t the centre of Tsuyoshi’s universe and Tsuyoshi isn’t the centre of his and this way is fair.

They’re still under each other’s skin, itching.

“Just think about how pathetic it makes you,” he tells Tsuyoshi and leaves him to suffer on his own.

 

(“Just give him a break. Tsuyoshi is Tsuyoshi.”

“You think it’s fine then?”

“As long as no one sees him like that...”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Everything is fine with you as long as it doesn’t come out, Mr. King of Liars.”

“Excuse me if I don’t bring people to their knees with my straightforwardness and perfect hair, Mr. I’m Always Right.”

Takuya thinks Nakai is an idiot and he doesn’t get Tsuyoshi and everyone is driving him crazy and he wishes Goro would come back already. That’s as far as getting closer as a group is concerned.)

xxx

– the year in which Tsuyoshi wants to be Nakai’s friend –

He tells Nakai when he’s spread on the floor of Nakai’s hotel room. Nakai is sitting beside him, panting hard from the effort of pulling Tsuyoshi’s limp body in a vain attempt to drag him out to the hallway (he wants to sleep and Tsuyoshi just won’t shut up). Tsuyoshi told Shingo long ago because Shingo is his friend and he tells him everything. He wants to have Nakai as his friend too, so he thinks he should tell Nakai something personal, which is why he announces it out of the blue, “I slept with Kimura-kun, you know.” He can no longer hear Nakai’s panting then and he wonders if Nakai stopped breathing and died. He lifts himself on his elbows to check.

Nakai is pouring himself another drink – if he’s not going to bed yet, he might just as well – and raises eyebrows, unimpressed.

“You mean like, in his bed? That’s hardly an accomplishment.”

“No, I mean like had sex with him. And why, have you slept with him in his bed?”

But Nakai stares at him and won’t give up until Tsuyoshi tells him the whole story, which Tsuyoshi does, as fragmented as it comes to him. Somewhere on the way Nakai drops his glass to the floor because something needs to break, and it’s either the glass or Kimura’s face.

It still takes him five days to gather enough courage to ask Kimura about it – a drunk Tsuyoshi is hardly a reliable source of information and he wouldn’t want to destroy a national treasure that is Kimura’s facial bone structure as a result of a mere misunderstanding.

Kimura makes a pained face and lights up a cigarette before he answers.

“Yeah, it’s true.” Something about the way he says it, like he surrenders, makes Nakai lose all desire to beat him up. This might not be the story of Little Red Riding Tsuyoshi and the Big Bad Sexual Predator Kimura after all and he guesses that Kimura got his own wounds in the process.

“Why?” he can’t help asking anyway. “Weren’t you thinking at all?”

“It’s complicated.” Kimura exhales smoke the way he would like to exhale himself, disintegrate into the air and get away from this conversation and from Nakai, the last person on earth he wants to have this conversation with.

“Kimura, it’s not complicated. You don’t sleep with your band mates. It’s perfectly simple.” _Surely even you can understand_ , is left on the tip of Nakai’s tongue. It’s not the time for insulting each other, as safer as it would make him feel.

“Apparently I do,” Kimura says with a bitter smile that has nothing to do with smiling. Then he’s not looking at Nakai anymore and it feels like he’s not talking to him either. “You know... For a moment, it wasn’t about band mates, or SMAP or anything like that.”

“Kimura. It’s always gonna be—”

“Yeah, I know.”

Nakai begs a cigarette off him and they sit in silence for another ten minutes because not talking seems to be the thing they both do better. They won’t mention it again, it’s a wordless agreement, but Nakai just needs to ask one more thing first.

“Does that mean you’re gay too?”

Kimura looks at him like Nakai has just asked if that means he has a brain tumour because that’s really the least important thing here.

“No.”

“Oh. I see.”

Kimura suddenly laughs and it sounds the way it always does.

“Don’t tell me you started thinking about that time in high school when we—”

“Don’t remind me about it. Kimura. Don’t ever remind me about it.”

xxx

Epilogue

Shingo and Goro become emergency friends over the Kimura-Tsuyoshi case. They keep having _dates_ to share what they know and to worry about their respective best friends together and somewhere on the way it turns into a habit that they never break – even long after the storm’s over and they can’t even remember there was a time when Shingo was scared SMAP would break up and Goro stayed until the wee hours of the morning at his place, assuring him that would never happen.

Kimura never needs that screwdriver. In the end, he fixes Tsuyoshi’s radio with adhesive tape and willpower. It’s obvious because when Tsuyoshi tries to switch it on the next day and Kimura isn’t there, it doesn’t work anymore. He mentions it to Kimura many years later because he suddenly remembers. A week after that, Kimura gives him an iPod, “late birthday gift,” he says (it’s October).

Goro is the only one that has the nerve to ask what Kimura is like in bed. Tsuyoshi turns very red in the face but tells him Kimura is amazing. It’s hardly a satisfactory answer for Goro and he wants details (he never gets them).

Kimura never reminds Nakai again about that time in high school when they kissed, but Goro gets to hear the story from both of them, at different times – even if each of them has a different version of what happened and the versions don’t match up. Nakai never tells anyone that he once kissed Tsuyoshi too. Tsuyoshi was too wasted to remember (typical), and Nakai can easily tell himself it wasn’t true.

 

Kimura and Tsuyoshi don’t talk about the things between them until Tsuyoshi comes back from his hiatus and for a moment he’s a different Tsuyoshi that Kimura’s never met. There’s a moment of manly hugging too and neither of them knows when to let go.

“Kimura-kun,” Tsuyoshi says, breathing Kimura in. “It’s gonna get hard...”

“What is getting hard?” Kimura hisses and he’s definitely smirking into Tsuyoshi’s ear.

“No, I didn’t...” Tsuyoshi is sure Kimura can feel how his face burns. “I mean, it’s gonna get difficult. To let go. The longer we... stay like this.”

“Some things aren’t supposed to be easy,” Kimura says and holds him for another minute.

Afterwards they don’t talk about it again. There’s no need to.

 

One night, Shingo is lazily clicking away on his computer and sipping his beer – he’s still in awe that Tsuyoshi refuses to drink alcohol, it’s been almost a year already – and in a way it feels like home.

“Did you know that tempo in music and heart rate are measured with the same units?” he reads yet another random piece of information that Tsuyoshi doesn’t really care about, like he’s been doing for the past hour.

“Really?” Tsuyoshi says, lying on the floor and not really caring, and his own heartbeat is at ease and when he rests the side of his head on his wrist, he can hear it. He wonders what Kimura is doing right now and if his heartbeat sounds the same. He thinks it’s probably faster than his. Maybe that’s a terrible delusion and it’s not like he wishes Kimura a heart disease, but he thinks it must be faster.


End file.
